


queeg

by rinagh (RINAGH)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crack, M/M, also i wrote this without any capitalization and it's staying that way, as you can tell this is a joke in every aspect possible, i'm moving my """""fics""""" (if they can even be called that!) from garak to here, wango tango bango implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9882620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RINAGH/pseuds/rinagh
Summary: direct quote from my original summary on tumblr"rating: oh hell oh no oh geez"





	

“wow” said julian bashir, unconvincingly.

“wow? is that all you have to say? wow? i must say julian, i don’t know whether i ought to be insulted or pleased.” garak shot back, displeasure pretending to be obvious in his voice. even the lizardy bastard’s emotions were duplicitous.

shaking his head, a small but possibly angry smile on his lips, bashir glanced at his watch, and moved to start unbuttoning garak’s ridiculous cardassian mag-hooked DuluxHide crocodile fasteners that he had somehow convinced himself should be allowed on clothing, despite his self-proclaimed status as cardassia′s most brilliant and infallible tailor. “i’m your DOCTOR, garak. i’ve seen you naked more times than you’ve stabbed yourself.” (this was accounted for by the times that he had shot himself)

garak looked ridiculous, standing there in bashir’s living room wearing only his ugly shirt and boots, which is why bashir was working at a fever pace to remove his awful tunic. absolutely nothing could be done while garak was the way he was. briefly, bashir had the faint hope that perhaps garak COULD change- be more honest, listen to other people more, even… dress like a normal person. but no. that was too much to hope for.

suddenly, and with a dangerous finality, garak was free of the hideous top. he was now completely naked except for his boots (garak insisted that socks were for those too weak to will their body not to sweat). deciding it wasn’t worth making a fuss about it, bashir pushed a squirming garak towards his bedroom.

“my dear doctor, this is simply not going to work. i will not sit by as you do whatever you please. i-”

“garak, that is exactly what you’re going to do.” bashir interjected as he shoved garak down onto the bed and then turned to grab something long, thin, and bottle-shaped from a drawer. “close your eyes.” before he could comply, the doctor swiftly covered garak’s eyes with his hand. “this is really going to be a shock, even for you, you old spy.” he chuckled, bringing up the object. 

one of garak’s eyes could just barely peek through bashir’s fingers, and he saw the light glint off the long blade of the knife, the doctor raising it just above him.

“there’s hope for you yet, doct-” he had time to choke out before bashir plunged the knife into his throat. 

“how’s that taste, you ungrateful bastard?” bashir said, bitterly, “spurn my cooking, will you? too much paneer for you, eh? next time i cook for you you better fall to your knees and cry and weep and beg to have just a taste, you smarmy fuck,” he grumbled, rolling garak’s body out into the hall for somebody to trip over.


End file.
